Hyperbole
by Selphiebunny
Summary: Grimmjow had cancer. Ichigo reacts accordingly. GrimmxIchi.
1. Pains

Disclaimer: I disclaim.  
Warnings: mentions of sex, angst.  
Pairing: Grimmjow Jeagerjaques x Ichigo Kurosaki  
Summary: It's slow, torturous, taking over anything and everything. It multiplies, endless and relentless until you die. And like Cancer, it never does.

**Hyperbole**

Ichigo climbs out of bed on an early Monday morning. His body is sore and aching as he slips on a pair of pants, stumbling down the stairs to the kitchen. His sister is making breakfast, and for once, his father is reading the paper instead of trying to roundhouse kick him.

"Morning," Ichigo mutters, heading straight to the frig for the carton of orange juice. Isshin grunts at him, offering a half smile. He seems to be immensely interested in some article. Strange.

After sufficiently quenching his thirst and declining Yuzu's bacon, he manages to make it back to his room, collapsing back on his bed.

Ichigo eyes the clock, wincing when it reads ten.

The organ in his chest beats dully, in and out go his lungs, but his mind shuts down.

He thinks about gin and the smell of smoke.

-

It happened two years ago. He was fifteen.

He didn't know who he was or what he could be, didn't understand his lanky body, how to be graceful, how to love someone.

Of course he had to meet an arrogant prick that sent his life into disarray. Of course.

His name was Grimmjow, and the day he set foot into Karakura, was the moment Ichigo realized everything about himself at once.

Grimmjow was the epitome of perfection, right down to his shredded looking shoes. Ichigo remembers staring holes through him as he was introduced to the class, some international exchange student, whatever. All that mattered was his blue eyes, a touch of electric eyeliner underneath like some undiscovered rock star, piercing through Ichigo's body, like a newly sharpened knife.

Cliché meetings and chance encounters happened thereafter, leaving Ichigo with knots in his stomach and a nasty blush. They seemed to be dancing around each other, holding up some grand charade that would never end.

It kind of just boiled over a clear afternoon. Ichigo smiles at the memory, of hands roughly pushing him into the bathroom while he was on his way to physics, of a searing hot mouth coming down on his, of a finely muscled body trying to find its way inside his own.

They were one piece of a soul together, and they could feel it in their very bones.

-

It was never just _fucking_. As silly as it sounded, they made love more often than not.

Despite his rough exterior, Grimmjow was a passionate lover. His touches set Ichigo on fire, igniting his senses until he couldn't remember his name anymore, his mouth always moaning that exotic name.

Lips against his ear, barely touching, barely needing to- but it's enough- god, to uncoil him, to have him whining and fucking _begging –_

_Christ._

When Ichigo thinks about it, his eyes water, and his palms shake.

Grimmjow's body heat suffocating him after they have sex, his arms wrapped around him like a vice, his chest rising and falling and lulling Ichigo to sleep.

Nothing could ever hurt him in those arms.

_You promised._

-

Now, after two years, Ichigo is a different person. He sleeps his days away and goes to college in the late afternoon, nothing special.

It's four hours later when he drags himself out of the house, looking messy and probably as unattractive as possible. Whatever.

Life is just not important anymore.

-

"Ichi," Grimmjow had whispered on a cold, windy day in December. "We gotta talk."

He had been getting sick a lot. It was worrying Ichigo half to death, to the point where _he _was losing weight, getting fevers and achy bones.

Ichigo knew then, knew something was bad.

He could tell Grimmjow was losing weight, again. Five pounds, maybe six? His once defined, muscled frame was starting to wither into thinness. They, fuck, they had stopped having sex a month ago. He said he just didn't feel like it, but Ichigo knew better, that he was extremely self conscious of his physique. Ichigo didn't care, though; he just wanted him to get better.

When he came back to reality, he almost didn't hear Grimmjow's uncharacteristic whisper, his shoulders quaking.

It was preposterous. He was so healthy; he worked out two times a day and didn't touch candy or soda, or any of that shit. Ichigo started laughing because _he just couldn't believe it._ He felt like a maniac, sitting there, cracking up while his lover was wallowing in confusion and pain.

_Cancer._

Grimmjow had cancer.

-

Ichigo lights up a cigarette, frowning around it. It's late December, and his thin clothes don't keep the cold out. His scarf scratches his neck raw.

He looks up, and sees that at least the sky is a light blue –the color of…

And the clouds are bloated, and one looks like a cat –

And Ichigo ducks behind an alley, lets himself crumble and drown.

-  
tbc… maybe, I don't know.

I like it, kinda. Not sure if I portrayed their relationship the way I originally wanted to. Yes, it is sappy. Suck it. Haha. Just kidding.  
I found out my uncle has cancer, and it's one of those things that I use writing to deal with.  
This will probably be a two or three part fic, so yeahh… tell me if you like it.


	2. Aches

Disclaimer: I disclaim.  
Warnings: mentions of sex, angst.  
Pairing: Grimmjow Jeagerjaques x Ichigo Kurosaki

AN: I wasn't going to continue this at all… but after a polite push almost a _year_ ago, hah, I recently got inspired. There will be another chapter after this one, hopefully a wee bit sooner. So, if anyone is reading this, enjoy.

* * *

**Hyperbole**

* * *

It's the smell of cinnamon that grabs his attention. Ichigo sighs, a deep rattle in his chest that just _hurts_. He looks up into worried eyes. His best friend Shinji places a soft, reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I found you in an alley, passed out. Ichigo…" He swallows, and Ichigo glances away. He realizes they're in Shinji's room and he's in his bed, and he can't stifle the pain that bubbles up in his chest like acid. He's fucked up, again, and he knows what Shinji's going to say. Shinji sits beside him, a defeated expression on his face. "This has to stop. An alley? Look, I understand you –"

Ichigo slaps his hand off violently, immediately trying to vacate the room. Shinji stops him with a long, thin arm around his waist, effectively placing him back on the bed. "Ichigo, we _need_ to have this conversation. We've been skirting around it for…" he trails off, uncertain. Trying to be careful with his words.

Ichigo looks down, at his hands that are trying not to shake, but failing so miserably. It's like a ripple effect. His hands, and then his chest, and finally his shoulders, and he just lets it out, the hot rush of tears crawling down his cheeks like spiders. It's embarrassing and unwanted, showing such weakness in front of his friend.

Shinji gasps, watching the other boy convulse with sobs and chokes. He brings Ichigo closer, only mildly surprised he lets him, holding him. "Ichi…, you're _not_ okay," Shinji whispers.

Ichigo can only shudder, thinking back to all the memories that haunt him through his days.

The blond man can only watch pitifully and hold his best friend as he lets everything go, all the pain of the past year. After a few minutes, the shaking stops, and then gradually Ichigo calms, wiping furiously at his redraw face.

"Shin, I'm sorry," Ichigo finally croaks, his voice hoarse from sobbing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Ichigo, hey, stop." Shinji murmurs, grabbing his arm. "Look, let's get something to eat. Is that okay?"

Ichigo shakes his head, standing up and stretching. The frown on his face might as well have been etched. "I'm going home. I'll call you." He tries to smile, but it just looks like a thin line.

Shinji doesn't say anything, just nods with an air of defeat hovering above his head. Ichigo leaves, jacket wrapped tight around him to cover against the wind. His face aches with the force of his spilled out emotion, and he thinks that he is empty.

There's just nothing left inside anymore.

And no one, _no one_ understands.

It's two days later, and snow is quietly falling outside. Ichigo watches the world wash white, and tries to smile. He closes his eyes and remembers how much _he_ had loved the snow. They way those eyes lifted at the sight of white flakes falling gently from the sky.

His fingers reach out and touch the window, trailing down. And then he jerks away, angry with himself, shuffling out of bed in a hurry to get out, to get away.

Ichigo flies down the stairs, two at a time, ignoring Karin and Yuzu in the kitchen, and heading straight for the door in a mad dash.

He lights a cigarette, instantly relaxing. He stuffs a hand in his pocket, fingering the sleek cover of his cell phone. Contemplating.

The number is one he doesn't want to call, dreads it, but fucking needs to. Ichigo takes the phone out, throwing down his cigarette, and dials.

There are two rings, and then a gruff, sleepy voice.

"What the hell d'you want? D'you know what time it is?"

Ichigo snorts, ducking in an alley and leaning against the dirty bricks casually.

"Shut up, it's one in the afternoon, you fuck. I'm coming over."

He can almost hear the sigh in Renji's voice. "Whatever."

The line dies. Ichigo glances up, smiles.

The snow has stopped, leaving a simple cover that's barely half an inch.

"I hate you," Ichigo whispers, on his back, staring up at an off-white ceiling while Renji sits beside him, furiously chain smoking.

Renji shrugs and rolls his eyes. "Yeah? That why you come over all the time?"

Ichigo doesn't acknowledge him, just turns on his side to stare at the peeling wallpaper. Renji lives in the slums. The one bedroom apartment is old, and Renji is not the one to fix it up.

And then, Renji doesn't know when to shut his stupid mouth. "I should understand now, right? Yeah, I'm just a replacement. I know, but fuck Ichigo, it's been like six months. You leech off me, shit, can't you forget about some dumb –"

There is a punch, a broken nose, and a fuming Ichigo.

He never calls Renji again.

* * *

Days blend in to weeks. Weeks easily slip by, and then months, and then, another year.

Ichigo stills aches. Still feels ripped in half, weak and angry. It's like there's a bottle of pure pain inside his chest, sometimes unscrewing and leaking out. But never empty.

And despite everything he does, destructive or not, the memories never go away.

He can see Grimmjow's smile in the rain falling, can still hear that soft chuckle when something goes right, but almost nothing ever does.

Ichigo is only half a person, and he just wants so desperately to _forget_, to feel full.

There are ghosts of a touch always on his body, taking him back to happier times, to sadder time.

Ichigo can remember the last time. In a hospital room, so small and insignificant. Black as night circles around his eyes because every damn second was precious. He nearly failed that year, but he could not have cared less.

The white wash of the room. The way Grimmjow looked so ready to give up, so ready to _die._

Ichigo stills chokes up, still wants to curl up and cry.

He had held his hand until his lungs had slowed, until every last breath was struggled out. Grimmjow never cried once, but it was like Ichigo couldn't stop. He felt so fucking useless, sitting there, watching him. Grimmjow had tried to cheer him up with smiles or jokes. He had got so thin, his body laying there in that bed, barely moving. And Ichigo was so _scared_. HE was scared and Grim was, was…

How something that started so pure and perfect could end so painful, Ichigo didn't know. He couldn't understand how the world could be so unbalanced. People like Renji could live and be good for nothing drug addicts, but Ichigo couldn't be fucking _happy_? Grimmjow had to die. What kind of logic was that?

He walks down roads that hold no meaning now. He hears every day to _move on, get over it, you were so young, how could you possibly know what love feels like?_

Ichigo just scowls, clenches his teeth and fucking grinds down.

He knows what love feels like. He also knows what death tastes like.

_You promised._

…so. I just want to say, I love GrimxIchi. It's a great pairing, but seriously? Every time I come back to the fandom, I try not to vomit. Why is Ichigo treated like such a… I don't even know. Mindless slut? Maybe. I like him bottoming too, but he _is_ a man, doesn't happen to have a vagina. It saddens me greatly.  
Anyway, enough of the rant. I hope I did okay on this little story. For optional reference, I listened to Brand New. They're great for angst.

Review? :)


	3. Relief

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Thank you Dishrag-chan, for liking this story and wanting me to continue it. It is dedicated to you, hope ya like. And Racey for being awesome. XD

MCR's song _Cancer_ gave me a lot of inspiration for the entire fic, not necessarily this chapter. Listen to it. Here's some lyrics.

_I will not kiss you  
'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you  
now turn away, cause I'm awful just to see  
Cause all my hair's abandoned all my body _

_Oh my agony  
know that I will never marry  
baby, I'm just soggy from the chemo  
but counting down the days to go_

_It just ain't living._

It's a great song.

x

Spidery hands crawl up his thighs, firm and commanding yet careful at the same time. Tentative.

"You sure you wanna give this to me?" Grimmjow chuckles, his head resting dangerously low on Ichigo's body. His ridiculous eyes are narrowed in concentration and a seriousness to rival his tone. Ichigo only nods, threading his long finger's through the other boy's hair affectionately.

"Are we really having this conversation?" Ichigo snorts, his tongue peaking out to lick his chapped lips. "I thought teenage boys were more interested in fucking than talking." And then, quieter, "of course I want to do this. I'm not a girl. I'm not weak. I'm Ichigo. Now fuck me."

Grimmjow feigns contemplation while tearing off the remaining barriers between them. And then it's just naked flesh and bone deep lust.

He gazes down at Ichigo with something in his eyes that Ichigo doesn't feel like naming.

Ichigo stares right back with fire.

It looks more like they're about to rip each other's throats out instead of having sex for the first time.

There is a three second pause before they both collide into a moaning mess of limbs and sweat and the slick sound of skin. Ichigo plays bottom and hisses when slick fingers press against his entrance, curling and twisting.

Ichigo's displeasure is quickly replaced with renewed lust when _that_ spot makes him arch and writhe, letting Grimmjow slather lube on his cock and press into him.

Pain and more pain. _Hurt._ If Ichigo was a lesser man, he would have let a few tears fall. But he isn't, and he takes a deep breath, finger nails clawing into Grimmjow's pasty skin viciously.

Grimmjow moves slowly at first, dragging every inch of himself out before snapping back in. Ichigo growls, teeth sinking into the tender skin of the other boy's neck, anything for a distraction until Grimmjow hits that spot again and it's _better_.

The pain diminishes to a dull ache, Ichigo moving his hips to meet Grimmjow's erratic thrusts.

When they're finished sometime later, Ichigo flat on his back while Grimmjow stretches beside him, they both conclude it was pretty good.

Ichigo smiles at Grimmjow's drooping eye lids. Typical. He can't say much, because he is just as tired. When he thinks the blue haired man is asleep, he curls up beside him and laces their hands, resting his head in the crook of Grimmjow's sweaty neck.

x

"Kurosaki," a clipped tone murmurs somewhere to his right. Ichigo turns his head and blinks in moderate surprise. There standing beside him is Ulquiorra, one of Grimmjow's … old acquaintances. He stands beside Ichigo without eye contact, as stony and oppressive as always. His questions are never even questioning.

Ichigo used to hate going over to Grimmjow's apartment when he wasn't there. One look at Ulquiorra had him stiff and feeling under examination. There was nothing he could do about it, they were roommates after all.

Even now, doing something as mundane and domestic as grocery shopping, Ulquiorra looks like he's lost in battle preparations and menacing thoughts. But Ichigo squares his shoulders and nods to him, trying to act confident despite his uneasiness.

"Ulquiorra."

Ichigo has never been very good at small talk, it's actually one of his greatest flaws, and standing here with eggs and bacon and nutella in a basket talking to _Ulquiorra_, of all people, is somewhat disconcerting.

So Ichigo tries to decipher what Ulquiorra is going or trying to say, but a shrill, happy voice booms from the isle in front of them like some great controlled explosion.

"Hello Kurosaki-kun! I didn't know you shopped here, too!"

There is a moment of deadpan silence. Ulquiorra gives him a _look_ out of the corner of his acid green eye, which Ichigo cannot discern if it means anything, before squeezing tight arms are crushing his innards to pieces.

He looks down into a flurry of burnt orange hair.

Inoue.

"I haven't seen you since –" _He died. _"High school!" her smile is blinding. Irritatingly so. Distantly, he thinks maybe he should hug her back, but his arms hang limply by his sides like dead weight. Ulquiorra is still burning neat holes into his skull.

…are they?

No. Ichigo snickers mentally. Impossible.

His assumption is proven possibly wrong as a sickly pale arm takes the girl's hand from his body, pulling her almost inconspicuously away.

Orihime grins almost sheepishly at him, her large doe eyes shining with something Ichigo was never good at reading. "It's nice to see you, Kurosaki –"

"Ichigo."

She just laughs that soft watery Inoue laugh that Ichigo didn't realize how much he missed. "Ichigo. How have you been doing? Rukia and Ishida call me a lot about you. You disappeared after graduation." Her tone is soft and not prodding at all, but Ichigo can't help but feel reserved, like she asked him something private.

He winces and shrugs, setting down the basket on the scuffed up tile of the market, leaning back against the isle. She was always a talker.

_Rukia._

_Ishida._

_Chad._

He hasn't talked to them in so long. He had stopped keeping track of time. Stopped caring about anything that didn't have to do with research and hospitals. He scratches his head, offering her a small smile. There are holes where his happiness should be, but she doesn't seem to notice.

"I moved out of my dad's house, finally. Going to Karakura University. Not sure what for, maybe engineering. You?"

The edges of her mouth curve up in something he can't even describe as a smile. It's too ethereal. He had always found her beautiful, but with that expression she is radiant. Her hand is outstretched, showcasing a simple band around her bony finger.

So.

She's getting married. To… _Ulquiorra._

Suddenly he feels like he's wasted his life.

"That's great, Inoue. I'm happy for you." He presses a hand against her shoulder, mindful of Ulquiorra's stony gaze. His words spill out without his consent. "How's Rukia… and the others?"

There is a large woman glaring at them, trying to get an item on the shelf between them. Ichigo jumps back, grabbing his basket. He watches Orihime take a piece of scrape from her purse and write down a number in big loops. She hands it to him.

"Give me a call sometime, we can all get together. We've all missed you. _So much._" There is a stretch to her tone, like she is trying to convey something to him that he doesn't understand.

He nods but doesn't say good bye. It feels like he's in auto pilot as he pays for the few things required for him to live. The walk home is robotic.

It starts to rain.

It's almost enjoyable, now.

x

He thinks about calling Inoue everyday for two weeks until he finally caves.

If Ichigo admits it to himself, it's almost scary.

The only contact he's really had in the last few years is Shinji, that stupid fuck Renji and his family. And even then it's clipped and emotionally one sided.

But he's ready. He has to be. Wallowing day in and day out is turning him into an antisocial loser. Grimmjow would be disgusted with his self pitying behavior. Though Grimmjow never cared for his friends, he would want him to keep in contact with them.

He stares at the little piece of receipt with an air of contemplation.

His cell phone is sitting right beside his hand, dented up and scratched. He's almost surprised it still works. Picking it up and holding the piece of crap in his hand, he sucks in a breath and dials.

He prays Ulquiorra doesn't pick up.

On the third ring he is tempted to hang up before someone answers.

He lets out a breath. It is not Ulquiorra.

"Kurosaki-kun?" She sounds chipper as always, but he can detect a hint of surprise and desperation.

"Hey, Inoue." He doesn't bother to correct her this time, she would just ignore it.

There is a few seconds of silence.

"It's so nice to hear from you again, Kurosaki-kun, I really thought,…but I should have had more faith."

Catching what she is trying to say, he takes a deep breath. "No, it's okay. So, how is everyone?"

They talk for hours. It's the closest Ichigo has felt to content in a long time.

He has only told Shinji about Grimmjow. Orihime listens to him as he willingly tells her little things, about him, about his cancer, the last moments of his life. A year ago he would have broke down and punched a wall, but he has been weighed down for years, letting a led ball chain to his heart without really noticing.

His face heats up with exuberance as he tells Orihime about a particularly precious memory glued to his mind. Hands fly up and around, he almost drops the phone, but they both let out peals of laughter when he's done.

The digital clock by the television flicks to a new hour, showing bright digital green numbers in the darkness. One in the morning. He leaves the conversation with new numbers, and makes up his mind to call Rukia, Chad and Ishida the next day.

X

Ichigo stares at the grave in front of him with what can only be described as indifference.

It is not that he doesn't want to be here, no, it's just. Too soon.

So he leaves like a complete coward.

x

Shinji drops by his apartment around nine at night, completely disregarding Ichigo's wishes to be alone per usual, and that fucking _asshole_ Renji in toe, with more alcohol than the three of them could drink in a month, let alone one night.

Yeah, just what he fucking needs.

Ichigo tries to close the door as soon as Shinji steps inside to keep the red haired fucker out, but a strong arm shoots out too fast to stop him, and Renji shoves past him like a complete dick.

Ichigo growls, rounding on him. "Get the fuck out, asshole, before I break your nose again."

Shinji eyes them with an annoyed expression, unsure if he should intervene, but slightly curious as to what would happen. Renji had corned him the other day at the grocery store, begging for a chance to talk to Ichigo again after a month of thinking, and Shinji being the devious bastard he is, agreed.

They were good for each other, despite Renji's drug problem.

Ichigo would beat the shit out of Renji to get it through his head. And Shinji misses the old Renji, before they all got out of high school. Before drugs Renji.

Deep down, Shinji knows Renji has a good heart. It's just buried underneath highs and lows and depression. Deep down, Shinji knows Ichigo is desperate to forget, to find something to ease the pain that hasn't gone away for two odd years.

And Renji doesn't waste any time once he is inside Ichigo's small home in spewing out a jumble of words. "I'm sorry –I'm _really_ sorry Ichigo. I didn't mean what I said. I was fucked up when I said that and Shinji set me straight, I'm –"

"Shut up," Ichigo growls and hopes he looks menacing. His knuckles crack, the sound resonating in the small apartment.

"Sorry," Renji finishes lamely. He looks like a wet dog, hair tangled without his trademark bandana, shoulders slumped and defeat clearly written across his sallow face.

Against Ichigo's better judgment, he lets Renji stay with a clear, concise warning. "Don't speak about him; don't ever say his name or I will strangle you."

Renji swallows down bile, but nods.

Ichigo just scowls and sits down; hand snatching a bottle of the cheap beer Shinji brought and chugs without thinking about anything.

He finally officially forgives Renji two months later, dropping him off at Karakura rehabilitation center. They exchange a few words and Ichigo squeezes his shoulder. This is the only way Ichigo allows contact with the red headed idiot.

Ichigo's parting words are quick and to the point. "Fix your shit and call me when you're clean."

Renji just rubs the back of his neck. He gives Ichigo a nod and grabs what few belongings he needs, which aren't much and walks into the small building. Ichigo watches him go with a heavy feeling in his gut.

He didn't actually think Renji would agree.

Deep down, he's happy that he did.

X

"_You're such a fucking idiot."_

_Ichigo paused mid puff on a cigarette clenched between his fingers. "What?"_

_Grimmjow was glaring at him from the open door way, meeting him at his house after work. "That gives you cancer. Do you really wanna go through that? Maybe not now, but it'll come back to haunt you." Grimmjow tried to look intimidating, even with his larger weight, but the effect was somewhat lost with his girly uniform. It was pink with ice cream cones decorating it. Ichigo snorted._

_There was a loud, dramatic sigh, but Ichigo reluctantly stubbed the stick out. "Whatever, mom."_

"_Promise me you'll quit." Grimmjow walked over to the orange haired idiot and sat down, ruffling his neon spikes affectionately. His fingers tightened, having Ichigo wincing in discomfort. "Or we'll have problems."_

_Ichigo nodded, leaning up and taking Grimmjow's frowning mouth, enjoying his task of wiping that expression from his face._

"_I promise."_

x

Renji stays away from anything involving blow or meth or pot. Anything that will cause Ichigo to beat the shit out of him.

Ichigo is pleased. He stops smoking. It's hard like everything in life.

They both chew a lot of gum now.

Ichigo stares at the grave in front of him with what can only be described as reverence.

He smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes. His hand is grasped firmly in another, Renji standing behind him.

"I'll just be a few minutes, you can go wait in the car."

Renji gives his hand a squeeze, nods and walks back. Ichigo is alone with his thoughts.

And Grimmjow.

Slowly, Ichigo kneels down to place flowers on the tombstone. They are tiger lilies, Grimmjow's favorite. He never said as much, never admitting to such a girly hobby that wasn't for him –but Ichigo knew he enjoyed them.

Ichigo grins, fingers clumsily going over the engraved letters.

It is only after five years that he can look at this little spot of earth and not flinch or frown or hate himself or the world, that he can smile and laugh and tell Grimmjow everything that's happened and what he has missed. How much he loves him, even still.

Even always.

X

DONE!

I've never written Ulquiorra before. I hope he wasn't too out of character. Ah this is the end. Thanks for reading. It was a hard chapter to write but I do believe I'm satisfied overall. I wasn't planning on using Renji again, but I figured why not have a little bit of a happy ending. :)

Oh, italics were a memory of Ichigo's, while the GrimmIchi scenes without italics was just storytelling. And laziness on my part, somewhat. Ja!


End file.
